Xora 3: Shell Game

by Brandy Dewinter

 

Chapter 3 - "Two - or Three - Against One"

 

*"I never expected to be *here* again,"* I thought, looking at the door to the infamous Room 17. Titania just, um, shrugged internally in whatever way she did that. After all, Room 17 had not been a surprise to her. It was me who had never expected to be invited into the room even once, let alone twice. And this time it was to get my head examined. *"Probably should have had that done first."*

*"Do you wish you'd never accepted that other invitation?"* Titania asked.

*"Of course not!"* I replied, and while the words were silent, the accompanying snort of derision was definitely audible, prompting a strange look from a nearby tech. Well, stranger than usual anyway. My unladylike sound at Titania's ludicrous comment was as out of place coming from a beautiful woman as talking to myself would have been.

*"Speaking, um, that is, thinking of, um, talking to myself, you need to be quiet in there, you know,"* I cautioned my symbiont partner.

*"Why?"* she asked defensively.

*"Well, they may have someone who can read minds, or whatever it is that some races can do. Empathy, telepathy, whatever-athy, if they can literally peek inside my head - and find you - we're really in trouble."*

*"Oh,"* she said quietly. Then I felt the strangest sensation.

It was as though I had suddenly gone deaf - only I could still hear everything around me. But it was flat and . . . hollow, as though something critical had been taken away from the nature of the sound. Then I realized it wasn't just sound. The air was stale, the lights wan and pale. Something . . . vivid had been taken away from everything around me, in fact.

*"Ti!"* I screamed mentally, panicked.

The strange emptiness faded, to be replaced by a depth and richness of sensation that made the prior dullness seem even worse. *"I'm still here, Silly, just being quiet, as you said."*

*"Quasars, Ti, don't do that to me without warning. It felt like, well, it felt bad."*

*"Miss me?"* she teased.

*"Damn right,"* I said, too shaken by that awful emptiness even to pretend it wasn't true.

Titania picked up on that. She had been pretty good at finding vulnerabilities from the first five minutes we were together. But this time, instead of gloating in her power she was contrite. *"I'm truly sorry, Xora. If it helps any, I found the sensation of isolation . . . unpleasant as well."*

*"Why did you damp everything out like that?"*

*"I didn't,"* she claimed. *"That's the way things really are, to your unaided senses."*

*"No,"* I denied her claim. *"There wasn't anything like that when you first . . . when we first joined."*

*"No, there wasn't,"* she agreed. *"But that was before I understood what we - together - can do. Since then, I've been, ah, 'tuning' our relationship."* She tried to lighten the mood a little with a snicker. *"It seems you've been taking me for granted again, Xora dear."*

*"Hardly, but you snuck all that in on me. I can't believe how much you improved things."* Then it was my own time to snicker - at myself. *"Now *that* was an understatement of, ah, cosmic proportions."*

*"Glad you think so,"* Ti said lightly, but I could hear her pride as well. Then the tone in her mind sombered. *"I'll have to be quiet again. Just remember. I'll always be here. You can get past this. Whoever is in there won't have a chance against the both of us, even if they only know about you."*

*"Oh, Ti, I hope so,"* I sighed, then I reached for the buzzer button - before my nerve failed - and almost missed the growl of permission to enter in the haze of wrongness that descended on me when Titania withdrew again. Dithering wasn't an option, though. I was going to have to be cool, confident, and clearly competent - regardless of how I felt on the inside.

The tableau in Room 17 was similar to my first visit, yet very different as well. The couch was still there, and there were still two occupants; Professor Inchbod and a beautiful woman.

But Inchbod was the only element that was truly the same. There was no deceptively innocent black blanket draped over the couch, and while the woman was attractive, she was not really in Tryx's class - not that any unaided woman could be. She was certainly fit and trim, with dark hair that she had pinned up neatly, but her nose was a little too, ah, dramatic for her otherwise fine features. Yet she was captivating. It was all in her eyes; huge, gentle pools that invited and accepted and encouraged without judgment. She had the most welcoming eyes I had ever seen. For perhaps the first time, I could see how a woman could be beautiful without being especially pretty.

Inchbod was much the same as before though, and welcoming was not the impression he gave. A tight scowl showed on the harsh planes of his lean face, an ascetic rejection of softness confirmed in his thin frame. Actually, I found that encouraging. It was clear that no one - least of all himself - met his standards. He would be intensely fair, and since he was already sure I would be found inadequate in some way or another, he would excuse as predictable any minor concerns that might come up. Besides, he was a man - and I had weapons of spectacular effectiveness against men. In fact, I had already cheated in that game. My makeup (actually Titania's tinting of my face) was well into the 'glamour' mode - frankly overdone for a daytime business situation - and my dress celebrated my curves without hiding any of them. I intended to be as sensually feminine as any woman Inchbod had ever met.

Influencing the woman was another matter. One glance into those warm, caring eyes and it was clear she truly wanted to help me. However, if she decided that the help I needed was confinement for some serious head-shrinking, I might never get away from her oh-so-tender care. The old Xora had never been able to, ah, communicate well with women, and my new 'weapons' were - well, I guess I shouldn't categorize this woman before we even spoke - but my new appearance was less likely to appeal to her than to old Inchbod, at least statistically. So she was doubly dangerous to me. Or triple, or whatever. Too ready to 'help' me right into a mental ward, too beautiful to be swayed by my own beauty, and too 'woman' for me to understand very well - and anyone who grew up as a man who thinks 'he' understands women . . . well, that's about all the proof you need that person is a fool.

My assessment of them took only a heartbeat and without apparent hesitation I strolled into the room. While I didn't put any extra sway in my walk, I didn't make any particular effort to control it, either. After all, at least one of my interrogators was a man, and if he still had a pulse, I had tools to use now that I hadn't had before . . .and this was no time to play fair.

The interview was like walking the tightrope my swaying stride mimicked. I needed to downplay the drama of the change, while not trivializing it to the point I'd have to explain why I hadn't changed back or tried something else. In other words, I had to justify a single yet major change in my appearance and behavior without making it seem I had been trying to satisfy some deep-seated psychological distress. It was easier to handle Sstton's little game. There all I faced was rape and murder. Here, they might try to do . . . . anything to me. Maybe even try to take T . . . my symbiont away from me.

"Professor Inchbod," I said, smiling brightly as I held out my hand - palm down and inviting a kiss more than a handshake, "how nice to see you again."

"Hrmmphh," he replied, or at least something like that. He shook my hand brusquely and dropped it. "Lieutenant Commander Xora, this is Counselor Ardala," he said, waving his hand vaguely back and forth between us to imply the invitation was supposed to be enough for both of us.

"Counselor," I said formally.

A smile every bit as welcoming as those incredible eyes danced on her face as she said, "Please, Ardala will do, or even just Dala. And may I call you Xora?"

"Of course," I said, trying to match her smile. The combination of those eyes and that smile triggered an old cliche in my mind. She could call me anything she wanted, as long as she called me. I wished I could match that look. It was amazingly effective, even on a face that had, um, a challenge to overcome.

"Sit, sit," Inchbod ordered, interrupting my distracted musing. I eased myself into the chair in a primly languid motion. Does that sound like a contradiction? It certainly wasn't the only one in my life. But the corset, collar, and towering heels I wore forced me to maintain perfect posture, while the . . . movements I had learned gave me a fluid grace that made even casual actions seem to flow in a timeless, unhurried way. Of course, the toss I gave my heavy mane of hair was quick, but that was just to keep it out of the way, not any sort of dramatic gesture to call attention to the sensuous silk. Not a bit.

The chair was surprisingly comfortable - not like those in the waiting room - and I let my elbows rest easily on the arms while I folded my hands in my lap, not coincidentally displaying long ruby nails. Then I just sat quietly, looking at Inchbod.

It was all the invitation he needed, if he needed any at all. "You transformed yourself into a woman."

I did nothing. Well, almost nothing. I had to breathe, right? And the corset held my waist, so I had to lift my . . . shoulders to get some air. It wasn't my fault that lifted the, ah, proof that I did indeed look like a woman. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a smirk appear on Dala's face, and I swear I saw a quick nod of approval - except I didn't really seem to see her move so much as just get the impression she approved.

"Well?" Inchbod said, interrupting my musing once again.

I nodded my head demurely, then let a throaty tone into my voice that was not at all 'girlish' for all that it was intensely feminine.. "Thank you, Professor. A girl likes to feel her efforts have been . . . noticed."

"But . . . " he started, then frowned, then started again, "why did you change yourself into a woman?"

I let an eyebrow arch, and matched it with a tone of challenge that said I was verging on irritation. "Why not?" Before he could answer I followed up. "Are you saying that becoming a woman has somehow . . . diminished me? That a woman can't be as good as a man?"

I stood up, turned to a quartering angle that showed all my, ahem, features and ran my hands slowly down my curves. "Are you saying that you don't find my new body more desirable than my old one?"

	Is my new body more desirable than my old one?

Inchbod's terse, no-nonsense manner collapsed before the attack on his open-mindedness and proper social tolerance. Not to mention his control of his libido. "Well, ah, of course, I mean, you're very attractive, of course, and a woman is just as good, I mean, for some people, it's just fine, but . . . "

Counselor Ardala bailed him out, as only a woman could. "Being a woman is fine, of course, but so is being a man. Why did you decide to change?"

I shimmied back into my seat and looked at her. Her smile was just as welcoming as before, but I was sure I saw approval there as well. Apparently, she found the old stuffed shirt as trying as I did, and didn't mind at all seeing him flustered. Yet, her responsibility was to evaluate me and I had known she was the greater challenge from the moment I stepped into the room.

I called attention to my long, sleek legs by crossing them slowly, then tugging ineffectually at the tiny skirt I wore. "I guess the answer again is, 'why not?' I've been a man, and when I realized it was possible to . . . adjust my appearance, I just decided to try something really challenging."

"So being a woman is just a challenge, not a, oh, call it a 'need' within you?" she asked.

"Now that I *am* one, I can certainly say it's a challenge," I replied, smiling and tossing my hair. "But I have to admit, it's an interesting one as well."

"So, you don't think you'll change back?"

"I didn't say that," I said, shaking my head. "Well, I guess I don't see myself as changing back into the old, sedentary Xora, but I may become a man again, or . . . "

"Or?" she prompted.

I chuckled and said, "You know, I considered changing into a female form to be about the biggest challenge I could imagine - and Lord knows the physical elements have been the *least* challenging parts - but I just realized that I have hardly begun. I could, oh, grow wings, or, well, I just don't even know. I haven't really thought about it. I've been busy on my missions, and on, um, exploring what I've already done. Maybe tomorrow I'll grow a tail. I don't know."

"So, becoming a woman was not some lifelong ambition for you?" Inchbod asked, finally getting back into the conversation.

"Not at all," I said easily. "I never thought I'd have the chance to do it so . . . . well, and I wasn't that dissatisfied with who I was before. Now that I am one though, like I said, I'm, ah, finding it interesting."

"You mentioned growing a tail?" Inchbod repeated.

"Maybe," I said lightly. "Or pointy ears, or fur all over my body, or . . . I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I'll stay like this for years. There's nothing wrong with the way I am - at least, I don't think so. It's just that something else may become even more interesting, or appropriate for a particular mission."

"So you're not so much - in your own self-image I mean - a woman as a, um, 'shape-shifter,'" he offered.

"Well, true shape changes take long enough that it's more than just a 'shift,'" I explained. "I find it easier to have a, um, baseline appearance, and right now that is female. And part of the challenge is to make the new identity vivid and three-dimensional, with mannerisms and voice to match the appearance. I guess I'll say that I am a woman now, inside and out, but I don't feel limited by that. And since I've, um, adapted to this shape so . . . comfortably, I may find other shapes can be comfortable as well. Maybe even that of a man." The last was delivered in a condescending tone that made it seem very unlikely to occur. Then I laughed to make it clear that I wasn't really disdaining men, either.

"Why are you blocking your emotions?" the Counselor asked abruptly. I looked back at her to find that same welcoming smile on her face, but a much sharper look in her eyes. She wasn't angry, just intently questioning.

"I didn't know that I was," I replied innocently. "What do you mean?"

"You seem to have some sort of block up," she claimed. "There are no, ah, emanations that would confirm the calm confidence you show on the surface."

"So," I said, keeping the conversation on questions to her. "Are you a telepath?"

"With some species," she confirmed. "With others, more of an empath. I can sense emotions, but not necessarily specific thoughts."

"And you're telling me that you can't sense anything from me?"

"No. It is as though you were an android."

Grinning, I turned back to Professor Inchbod. I let my eyes get heavy-lidded, licked my lips (like I said, I wasn't interested in playing fair), and launched a smile at him. "Tell me, Professor. Do I look like a machine to you?"

That could have been dangerous. If Counselor Ardala thought I was dodging the question, she might have gotten suspicious. But I caught a sense of amusement from her, and she said nothing as we waited for Inchbod to answer.

He took refuge in his notepad, consulting it carefully before replying - without looking up. "Your records are clear. You are obviously not a machine."

I let my lips purse in a pout and sighed. "Oh, dear, I do so hate being . . . 'obvious.'"

Counselor Ardala broke her own professional mien with a charmingly relaxed giggle. Before she could lose that mood, I offered her an explanation that was the truth and nothing but the truth - though not quite the whole truth.

"I'm sure it's got something to do with my symbiont. As you know, sh . . . that is, the symbionts can filter out harmful radiation. They can also provide a camouflage appearance. Apparently that includes control over - what did you call them? - mental emanations."

"'Apparently?'" repeated Inchbod. "You mean, you don't fully control the symbiont?"

Now *there* was an understatement of 'cosmic proportions.' "Let's just say," I offered, "that we're a, um, symbiosis. We've worked out a way to, um, to work things out."

"How do you communicate with your symbiont?" asked Ardala.

Another dangerous question. Even if she couldn't sense my emotions directly, I was concerned that the Counselor would be able to tell if I lied outright. What truth could I give her? Not the whole truth, that was for sure. Perhaps I could give her a lot of little truths instead.

"In various ways," I answered. "I'll be thinking of something, or considering some problem, and things will . . . happen. Like when we took Professor Inchbod's tests. One test involved a very hot room, and T . . my symbiont formed a heat-resistant exterior. Oh, what else? Sometimes I get cravings, and that seems to provide whatever my symbiont needs."

"So, you don't converse with it directly?" Inchbod asked.

"What, like voices in my head?" I countered with a laugh, carefully not answering the question.

Inchbod seemed to accept that as an answer and moved on. "Now, about your control of the symbiont. Can you give us a demonstration?"

My first impulse was to be cautious, but that wasn't the persona I was, um, enacting. I needed them to think that I had nothing to hide. Right. Not a thing, nobody in here but me, and I was (drum roll) Xora, the best - and most sensuous - field agent in the galaxy. Right. Well, it was a role I had learned to play.

With no apparent hesitation, I purred, "Why, Professor, what did you have in mind?"

That prompted another giggle from Ardala, and the first real, honest-to-goodness blush I had seen on Inchbod's stern visage. He made his grunty little hrmpph sound again, then said tersely, "You mentioned camouflage. Can you change your hair color?"

I gathered some of my hair in my hands, put a pout on my lips again, and said, "Don't you like my hair, Professor?" Before he could answer, I let an image of pale ash blonde hair form in my mind even as I complained, "I'm not sure what my hair color has to do with this examination."

The color seemed to drain from my hair like ink pooling away into nothingness, then I tried an empty-headed giggle - surprisingly easy - and said, "Oh, there goes 20 points of IQ. Of course, as a blonde, I won't miss them."

That prompted an answering snicker from Ardala. Our eyes met and we were sisters in our dark-haired struggle against the man-crazy blondes of the world - even though at that moment I definitely looked like I belonged in the latter category. Of course, most of the time I acted like I belonged in it, too.

I giggled again, as bubbly and shallow as I could make it. Then I leaned back in my chair, imagined my hair dark again, and lifted a taunting eyebrow at him.

Counselor Ardala smiled and stood up. "Let the record show," she said with a smile, "that Commander Xora appeared calm, confident, and comfortable throughout the interview. It is my opinion that her merging with her symbiont has resulted in a well-integrated - though distinct - personality. Do you agree, Professor Inchbod?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course," he said quickly, standing as well.

That was enough cue for me, so I swayed to my own towering heels and smiled at them. "I'm glad to hear it."

Ardala walked around the desk to shake my hand. At first, I thought the lack of sensation might have been part of the same phenomenon as the general lack of vividness in my world with T . . . in that condition. But it was more than that. There was a thin, but impermeable covering where Ardala was touching me - reinforcing the protection against mental probing. Ardala noticed, but the only sign was a slight increase in the pressure of her hand, and an easy smile.

"Let me escort you to the door," she offered, and slipped her hand through my arm. Again, wherever she touched had a slightly stiff feel, as though there were a barrier between us. She looked over her shoulder at the still-standing Inchbod and said, "I'll be back in a minute."

She didn't let go of my arm, though. Not when we reached the door. Not even when we had passed through it and were walking down the corridor. "We need to talk," she declared.

My mama didn't raise anyone foolish enough to volunteer anything in that situation, so I just let myself be led to a small alcove.

Her warm eyes were dancing with humor when they met my own gaze. I was trying for innocence, but I suspect there was far too much wariness in my expression. Ardala let me sit for a minute, the smile in her eyes offering challenge and support at the same time. Then, she surprised me with a non sequitur.

"Have you ever read, 'The Country of the Blind,' by H. G. Wells?"

I shook my head. "I seem to remember the author's name, though. Didn't he write, what did they call it, science fiction?"

Ardala nodded. "He was one of the first great science fiction writers. Many of his stories turned out to be amazingly prophetic. Why do you suppose that was?"

"I'm sorry," I said tentatively. "I'm afraid I don't know."

"Perhaps it deals more with my specialty than with yours," she offered. "I think Wells had some very good insights into the human mind - and so could see how people would react to situations, even those that hadn't arisen yet."

I nodded, not that I really knew what I was agreeing about, and let a mixture of interest and patience show on my face. No volunteering for this girl.

Ardala laughed easily and nodded a point to me. "You know, your careful reticence actually works to confirm my hypothesis," she claimed.

"And what hypothesis would that be?" I asked, figuring it would be better if she were answering questions than asking them.

"That gets back to the story," she explained. "Wells talks of an explorer who finds a hidden mountain valley. In it, all the people are blind due to some strange disease, and have been blind for so many generations the very idea of sight has been forgotten."

"Did I miss a hypothesis in there?" I asked with a smile.

She grinned and said, "I'm coming to that. The explorer thinks to become king of the little valley, since he can see. But they are well-adapted to their situation and his eyesight brings him little advantage within their society. In the end, they think him crazy to claim to see, and their solution to his insanity is to demand that he give up his eyes."

"How horrible!" I gasped.

"Indeed," Ardala agreed. "He chooses to flee the valley, dying in the surrounding mountains rather than submit to being blinded."

"I can understand that," I said.

"I'm sure you can," she said firmly, so firmly that there was obviously a deeper message in her statement.

"Let me offer you my hypothesis," she continued. "Suppose that someone found themselves with a special ability, one that was wonderful but couldn't be shared. Suppose further that some of the . . . attributes of this ability were, ah, similar to those of a *dis*ability. I imagine in that situation, it might be reasonable to conceal much of that ability. Don't you?"

"I suppose," I agreed cautiously.

Ardala laughed easily and stood up. "Don't worry, Xora. If it were to turn out that, hypothetically speaking, your symbiont was a lot more capable than you've let on, I wouldn't suggest you 'give up your eyes.' After all, my empathic ability would seem much the same to many people. I would like to talk with you about it sometime, if you're comfortable with that, but in the meantime let's just say that I'm on your side."

Then the beautiful counselor with the unimportant flaw of a too-dramatic nose reached out to touch my thick, dark hair. She leaned close to giggle vacuously in my ear. "We dark-haired girls have to stick together against the blondes, right?" Then she stood straight and her expression became serious again. "And we need to watch out for the stuffed-shirt intellectuals who think that anything they don't understand and can't share must be a problem, not a blessing."

I'd have been disappointed to see her go since I had hardly expected to find an ally in that examination, except that with her departure, Titania flowed back into my senses and the world was vivid again.

*"Sweet starlight, I missed you, Ti,"* I told her, sagging in my seat as much as the corset allowed.

*"I was always here,"* she claimed, and of course I knew that it was true, just as she knew my sense of relief was also genuine.

I stood up to go back to my own quarters, then nearly stumbled when Titania asked with seeming casualness. *"Do you *really* want to grow a tail?"*

*"Don't even think of it!"*

*"I'm trying to decide between a horse tail that would match your hair, and a bushy sort of fox tail thing. What do you think?"*

I had this really, really sick feeling in my stomach - one that I'm sure Titania enhanced just to be ornery. *"Don't you dare!"*

*"Or maybe a cat-tail,"* she mused. *"With or without a little tuft on the end, like a lion?"*

*"Oh . . . bat guano,"* I moaned.

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.